“How right that the body changed over time, becoming a gallery of scars, a canvas of experience, a testament to life and one’s capacity to endure it.”
— Janet Fitch
before here this is what my life was like. this is what i was. sometimes i miss it, but most of the time i don’t. well maybe i’m lying. i miss it a lot. i never cut this badly anymore, i never cut this much, or this frequently anymore. but i miss the pain. the blood. the nice little neat lines, organization. it doesn’t make sense to you, but it makes sense to me, in my head it matters. i look at my damaged scarred arms and i feel remorse, sometimes regret. i’m angry at myself for going that far, but i can’t stop. i want to, sometimes, but most of the time i don’t. what if i never do.
i guess i will tell you about what happened recently. my bestfriend, his name is Brandon we have been friends for a long time. finally we had sex, it was awkward, painful, it was everything that i didn’t expect. i freaked out and that pissed me off. i can’t explain what happened. i can, but there isn’t enough time and i have work first thing in the morning. so let me tell you some things briefly. the things that i never do, i broke all of my rules, i let him kiss me in the mouth, i started to like him, i got attached, and it all fucked me over. i don’t know, i can’t go any further here. my head hurts and i have work at like 8am. that is early for me. maybe i will try to write more another time.
k
